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Though Levin tried to control himself, he was gloomy and silent.

He wanted to put one question to Stepan Arkadyevitch, but he

could not bring himself to the point, and could not find the

words or the moment in which to put it. Stepan Arkadyevitch had

gone down to his room, undressed, again washed, and attired in a

nightshirt with goffered frills, he had got into bed, but Levin

still lingered in his room, talking of various trifling matters,

and not daring to ask what he wanted to know.

"How wonderfully they make this soap," he said gazing at a piece

of soap he was handling, which Agafea Mihalovna had put ready for

the visitor but Oblonsky had not used. "Only look; why, it's a

work of art."

"Yes, everything's brought to such a pitch of perfection

nowadays," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, with a moist and blissful

yawn. "The theater, for instance, and the entertainments ...

a-a-a!" he yawned. "The electric light everywhere ... a-a-a!"